Kolkata, India
November 19th
Pitch black darkness has enveloped Kolkata in the middle of the night. The city lay in peace and silence when a muffled sound of an ambulance is heard at a distance. It was fast approaching and the sound which seemed muted at first was now clear and distinct. The watchman, a potbellied man in his late fifties jogs back to the hospital and informs at the reception ‘There is an ambulance arriving, get up!’
The receptionist struggles to fight her late midnight slumber but finally succumbs to the high pitch sound of the watchman. She reacts rather slowly and opens her eyes reluctantly. Within a minute the ambulance arrives at the hospital in Dhakuria. The driver darts out of the van and orders the receptionists to inform the doctors of an emergency. The watchman now opens both the doors for the ward boys to work with ease. Within no time, the ward boys arrive and open the ambulance’s back door.
The patient is lying on the stretcher, moving her head to and fro, while her husband was holding the right hand. She was breathing through a Bag Valve Mask, as she was nauseated and claustrophobic. He was constantly coaxing her ‘It’s okay; everything is going to be fine.’ He kept blowing air from his mouth on her forehead, in order to keep her calm. Her perspiration was perpetual and the pain was increasing exponentially. He caressed her both out of concern and happiness. One of the ward boys enters while the other stays outside. They lift the stretcher and rush towards the Operation Theatre (O.T). Meanwhile, the husband of the patient follows till the threshold of the O.T., where he is forced to stay outside by the doctor in charge. The husband looks worried and pale. The doctor, in his early fifties was very experienced, he stood firm and upright. He also assured the husband that everything would be fine and placed his palm on his chest and said ‘She is in good hands, you need not worry.’
The husband felt assured and nodded in affirmation…he had no other option but to believe the doctor. The doctor placed his hand over the husband’s shoulder and asked ‘What is your name?’
‘Vivek Sen’, replied the husband.
‘Don’t worry Mr. Sen, I assure you once again, she is in good hands, I am Doctor Arijit Banerjee’, he was familiar with the pre delivery jitters and pointed out to the reception and added ‘I urge you to please complete the paper work, it’s important too. Ja hobe bhalo hobe’, and he entered the O.T. Vivek progressed towards the reception area after feeling a little assured. As he walked towards the lobby, he remembered something very important; he reached out for his cell phone in his pockets and in his heightened state called his father.
‘Hello Dad?’
‘Hello Son, what’s the news? Is she okay?’
‘Yes Dad, she has just been taken to the Operation Theater, and the doctor has assured me that everything is fine.’
‘Thank you God’, said Vivek’s father Mr. Sujit Sen, who was calmer than his son, given the experience and level headedness.
‘Dad, I miss you and Mom here, I feel alone and panicky.’
‘Well son, it’s perfectly normal, although it is a moment of chaos and panic, the thing is, you should remain calm and composed. Only a brave heart can go through this time, and you are my proud son, I have faith in you, don’t worry, everything is going to be fine.’
‘Thank you Dad, but when are you coming here?’
‘I am taking an early morning flight and will be there first thing in the morning’
‘Okay Dad, I will be waiting for you, good bye’
‘Take good care my son’ and the senior Sen disconnected the call.
After gaining confidence, Vivek now sat on one of the chairs facing the reception desk. The receptionist who was now wide awake was arranging for some paper work. There was a large television which was switched off. Apart from a few ward boys, nurses and attending doctors, there was no one in the lobby. The chair seemed to be rather uncomfortable for him, and he twisted his body to find a relaxing posture. Sweat seeped from the pores of his forehead and trickled under the frame of his glasses. The eye brows were wet and he constantly dabbed his forehead with his handkerchief. Time was ticking very slowly for him. He perpetually shook his legs in tension. Every few minutes he would run his fingers through his hair, exhale through his mouth rather heavily, squeak and pray everything is fine.
The receptionist after a slight struggle with her drowsiness found the required paperwork and called for Vivek. She handed them out to him and very quickly ran though the instructions in filling up the form. He took a while in filling up the form, he was in quite a lot of pressure and nobody from his family was here. There was no old hand to comfort him during this time. He carefully filled up and gave it back to the receptionist.
The receptionist, Kristy, cross checked and gave the form back to Vivek, ‘Please sir, fill the form entirely. You still have to sign here and you haven’t mentioned the relationship.’
Vivek was rooted in his thoughts and turned a deaf ear to Kristy.
‘Sir, you have to sign here!’ said Kristy amplifying her voice to wake Vivek up from his dreams. Vivek was suddenly brought back to reality by the semi-awake receptionist. He shrugged himself can cleared his throat to speak ‘Excuse me; I am very sorry, I was thinking about something else.’
‘Yes you were Sir, please sign down here and mention you relationship with the patient, you are the husband right?’ Kristy was losing all the calm she had after being woken up by the watchman past midnight.
‘I am sorry once again’, Vivek took the paper and signed it. He took a look at his signature and gave the form back to Kristy.
‘Sir, are you not her husband?’ asked Kristy now doubting the relationship of Vivek and the patient.
He takes the paper again, apologizes to Kristy and ponders again about the first day he met her- 20th February. Although, it seems like a short time, yet this was one of the best days of his life. Kristy looks at Vivek with utter disdain and running out of the last bottle of patience squeaks ‘Sir, are you the husband?’
Vivek is clouded by thoughts and reluctantly writes ‘HUSBAND’.
November 19th
Pitch black darkness has enveloped Kolkata in the middle of the night. The city lay in peace and silence when a muffled sound of an ambulance is heard at a distance. It was fast approaching and the sound which seemed muted at first was now clear and distinct. The watchman, a potbellied man in his late fifties jogs back to the hospital and informs at the reception ‘There is an ambulance arriving, get up!’
The receptionist struggles to fight her late midnight slumber but finally succumbs to the high pitch sound of the watchman. She reacts rather slowly and opens her eyes reluctantly. Within a minute the ambulance arrives at the hospital in Dhakuria. The driver darts out of the van and orders the receptionists to inform the doctors of an emergency. The watchman now opens both the doors for the ward boys to work with ease. Within no time, the ward boys arrive and open the ambulance’s back door.
The patient is lying on the stretcher, moving her head to and fro, while her husband was holding the right hand. She was breathing through a Bag Valve Mask, as she was nauseated and claustrophobic. He was constantly coaxing her ‘It’s okay; everything is going to be fine.’ He kept blowing air from his mouth on her forehead, in order to keep her calm. Her perspiration was perpetual and the pain was increasing exponentially. He caressed her both out of concern and happiness. One of the ward boys enters while the other stays outside. They lift the stretcher and rush towards the Operation Theatre (O.T). Meanwhile, the husband of the patient follows till the threshold of the O.T., where he is forced to stay outside by the doctor in charge. The husband looks worried and pale. The doctor, in his early fifties was very experienced, he stood firm and upright. He also assured the husband that everything would be fine and placed his palm on his chest and said ‘She is in good hands, you need not worry.’
The husband felt assured and nodded in affirmation…he had no other option but to believe the doctor. The doctor placed his hand over the husband’s shoulder and asked ‘What is your name?’
‘Vivek Sen’, replied the husband.
‘Don’t worry Mr. Sen, I assure you once again, she is in good hands, I am Doctor Arijit Banerjee’, he was familiar with the pre delivery jitters and pointed out to the reception and added ‘I urge you to please complete the paper work, it’s important too. Ja hobe bhalo hobe’, and he entered the O.T. Vivek progressed towards the reception area after feeling a little assured. As he walked towards the lobby, he remembered something very important; he reached out for his cell phone in his pockets and in his heightened state called his father.
‘Hello Dad?’
‘Hello Son, what’s the news? Is she okay?’
‘Yes Dad, she has just been taken to the Operation Theater, and the doctor has assured me that everything is fine.’
‘Thank you God’, said Vivek’s father Mr. Sujit Sen, who was calmer than his son, given the experience and level headedness.
‘Dad, I miss you and Mom here, I feel alone and panicky.’
‘Well son, it’s perfectly normal, although it is a moment of chaos and panic, the thing is, you should remain calm and composed. Only a brave heart can go through this time, and you are my proud son, I have faith in you, don’t worry, everything is going to be fine.’
‘Thank you Dad, but when are you coming here?’
‘I am taking an early morning flight and will be there first thing in the morning’
‘Okay Dad, I will be waiting for you, good bye’
‘Take good care my son’ and the senior Sen disconnected the call.
After gaining confidence, Vivek now sat on one of the chairs facing the reception desk. The receptionist who was now wide awake was arranging for some paper work. There was a large television which was switched off. Apart from a few ward boys, nurses and attending doctors, there was no one in the lobby. The chair seemed to be rather uncomfortable for him, and he twisted his body to find a relaxing posture. Sweat seeped from the pores of his forehead and trickled under the frame of his glasses. The eye brows were wet and he constantly dabbed his forehead with his handkerchief. Time was ticking very slowly for him. He perpetually shook his legs in tension. Every few minutes he would run his fingers through his hair, exhale through his mouth rather heavily, squeak and pray everything is fine.
The receptionist after a slight struggle with her drowsiness found the required paperwork and called for Vivek. She handed them out to him and very quickly ran though the instructions in filling up the form. He took a while in filling up the form, he was in quite a lot of pressure and nobody from his family was here. There was no old hand to comfort him during this time. He carefully filled up and gave it back to the receptionist.
The receptionist, Kristy, cross checked and gave the form back to Vivek, ‘Please sir, fill the form entirely. You still have to sign here and you haven’t mentioned the relationship.’
Vivek was rooted in his thoughts and turned a deaf ear to Kristy.
‘Sir, you have to sign here!’ said Kristy amplifying her voice to wake Vivek up from his dreams. Vivek was suddenly brought back to reality by the semi-awake receptionist. He shrugged himself can cleared his throat to speak ‘Excuse me; I am very sorry, I was thinking about something else.’
‘Yes you were Sir, please sign down here and mention you relationship with the patient, you are the husband right?’ Kristy was losing all the calm she had after being woken up by the watchman past midnight.
‘I am sorry once again’, Vivek took the paper and signed it. He took a look at his signature and gave the form back to Kristy.
‘Sir, are you not her husband?’ asked Kristy now doubting the relationship of Vivek and the patient.
He takes the paper again, apologizes to Kristy and ponders again about the first day he met her- 20th February. Although, it seems like a short time, yet this was one of the best days of his life. Kristy looks at Vivek with utter disdain and running out of the last bottle of patience squeaks ‘Sir, are you the husband?’
Vivek is clouded by thoughts and reluctantly writes ‘HUSBAND’.
